The Agonies of a Drummer
‘The fair of this world is very short to live;
Morning is not known when night has gone.’
These lyrics of a famous song, at that time, may not have reached the ears of many children, but the sound of the beating of the drum had reached them. With the echo of- the drummer arrived.... the drummer arrived, the silence of the entire street turned into an uproar. All the big and small children on the street started running towards him. Those who were older had reached there first. The girls were angry at the discrimination they faced. ‘Amma is not impartial. Why is it our responsibility to take care of the children? The boys run around in fun.’ While running, Tinku slipped down from Reshmo’s lap. It is the goodness of Premo, who took care of him before he could fall on the ground, otherwise, her mother would have slapped her across the face today. The girls were probably so proud of themselves that in the run-up queue, they were ahead of those unfortunates who were left behind and were running and crying after their elder siblings to reach there. In this race, somebody falls, some cries, some rushes, all were trying to overtake each other.
A turban of unclean cloth above the head, a shirt without collar over the body, a loin-cloth tied above the bones of the hip, a small drum hanging above the abdomen with a strip of strings tied around the neck, a bundle of grains hanging from the right shoulder and an innocent child sitting on both shoulders behind the neck that was the identification of the Drummer. He alternately would go from one house to the other’s house and would start singing with a great melody, while playing the drum-
The fair of this world is very short to live;
Morning is not known, when night has gone.
He would turn around in a month or two. The children would be very happy on his arrival and after he would leave, they would wait for his arrival. This sequence continued for a few years in the beginning. The child, who sat on his shoulder, was now grown up and started walking with his father. He also had an unknown relationship with the younger children. They began to recognize each other's facial expressions in a silent language, without speaking. Sometimes he would like to join the children and enjoy playfulness like them. But how could this be possible? Whenever he tried, his father’s voice would be heard, ‘Son! Let us go, there is still a lot of ways left.’ And then innocent steps started moving ahead unwillingly. After completion of begging from door to door in the village, the flock of children, following the Drummer would leave them to the village limits. The desire to reach another village would have doubled the speed of the steps. But the child's mind would still be lost in those unknown benefactors standing behind. He would turn around and stare at them as if saying that call him to stay with them too. Then his father started calling from some distance, ‘Son! Hurry; there is still a lot of ways to go.’ And then he starts finding his way lost in the whirlwind of abode of despair.
With the passage of time, age increased and with age, the behaviour of children and their habits had also started changing. Now they were not just spectators but started playing the trick for spectators themselves. They were pretending to be hypocrites. After binding the empty tins of Dalda vegetable oil with strings, giving them the form of drums, placed them safely in wait for the Drummer. Now every single moment of waiting was passing impatiently. And then one day the sound of the drum was heard at the entrance of the village. The group of small children started moving from the narrow streets of the village like a flood in the river. Mischievous boys also, hanging drums made of tin boxes in their necks, reached there mimicking in unharmonious voices. The Drummer started singing the song by beating the drum with his hands:
‘The fair of this world is very short to live;
Morning is not known, when night has gone.’
He could only speak so much that the mischievous boys, playing drums, started following him with a loud voice. The poor had already faced the troubles, what could he say? After heaving a sigh, he started towards another house. But this newborn trouble didn’t stop from following him. Wherever he would go, the mischievous boys would not desist from following him. The mind of the innocent child, which used to be eager to meet his little friends earlier, got upset with this misery of the children. A feeling would come to his mind again and again that by snatching their drums he should break them with stones. But his vengeance was being inflicted from within himself rather than harming anyone. After all, there is a limit to tolerance. His patience was lost. He wept and screamed. The Drummer stopped singing and picked up the boy and clung to his chest. Then he walked in the street to get out of the village.
It is the nature of childhood to get the feeling of pleasure as a result of mischief. Their intention was not to hurt anyone, but it was the bad effect of their culmination of bliss. The Drummer had crossed the periphery of the village, but the boys were still not giving up his pursuit. He didn’t want to see his affectionate child grieving anymore. Therefore, he sat on one side above the platform made under the Peepal tree. Sitting his child next to him, he placed the drum and the bundle of grains at his backside, then called the children to sit near him and said:
‘Dear children! Will you listen to the story of my song?’
The story is like a diet to the children. So they spoke in one voice:
‘Yes, we will listen.’
‘So listen.’ he said and started telling the story:
‘Dear children! My story is about a time when you were very young and perhaps some of you were not even born. Our country was divided into two parts - Hindustan and Pakistan. I and my family lived in what is called Pakistan. The storm catastrophe of partition was such that whoever came forward went to ruin. Friends of yesterday became foes. There were horrible scenes all over. And nothing was heard except the uproar and screams. Those who were strong had run away from the village and those who were weak like me were drying their bones in waiting for death. No one is powerful in front of God's will. Two days ago, some part of the back wall of our house had collapsed due to rain. On the other hand, my wife was in the family way. In the absence of proper medical care, her condition was very critical. Getting out of the house was very risky due to the riots. It was also not possible to arrange even a midwife in the village. Somehow the next morning this boy was born. Without the medicine, the condition of my wife was getting worse. Seeing her condition, I could not wait anymore and when I started leaving the house in search of a physician, she said with tears in her eyes:
‘O My Master! Why are you killing everyone to save a life? Getting out into the street is like calling for death. The murderers are sitting at every step. If death is written in my destiny, no one can save me and if it is not there, I’m not going to be harmed. Just look at this innocent baby. We have seen many springs of life. This poor thing has come on earth today. If you remain safe, at least this poor’s life will be safe. What trust me, when God calls me?’And tears started flowing from her eyes while saying this.
‘I reassured her again and again not to lose her heart. If we get a little better, then somehow we will leave here for Hindustan. She knew all the things. How long could my false consolation keep her in deception? After caring for herself a little, she spoke in a very philosophical sense:
‘My Master!
The fair of this world is very short to live;
Morning is not known, when night has gone.’
‘My master, who has seen the day, it may come or not? I’m feeling apprehensive, my days are about to expire. You go from here immediately, in some way with this innocent. If anything happens to him, I will not get peace even after dying.’
‘Don’t say such an inauspicious thing. Nothing is going to happen to you. We will leave here in the dark before tomorrow morning. Seeing her condition, I couldn’t stop the tears in my eyes.’
Saying this, when he looked at the children, they too were wiping their tears with their little hands. For some time, he too couldn’t speak a word in sentimentality and began to wipe the tears in his eyes from the border of a cloth. The atmosphere was quiet and inconsolable. The children for listening to the matter further started looking towards him curiously. But, he was like a stone statue lost motionless in his memoirs. At last, a boy said while breaking the silence:
‘Drummer Baba, then what happened next?’
‘My dear children, what was it to be? The same thing happened which was acceptable to nature. It must have been around ten in the night. The sky was covered with thunderous clouds. There was a very dark shadow all around. Fearing the nature from the above and the fear of the rioters below, I was sitting helplessly closing the door next to my wife. Then I heard the commotion from the other end of the village. The enemies of humanity were coming in the orgy of horror. Now there was no time to think and decide anything else. Getting out into the street was very risky. I thanked the Supreme God that maybe two days ago he had demolished the wall of the house only to protect us. My wife was unable to walk due to maternity and ill health. I picked up the child with one arm and held her with the other arm while supporting her; we skipped the broken wall crossed into the field of millet in the backyard. We kept walking through the fields hiding ourselves the whole night. It was not safe to walk at dawn, so before that, we went to a nearby forest and sat hidden in the bushes. The whole day was overcome by hunger and thirst; we couldn’t even reach our voice. In such a situation, feeding milk to the child repeatedly she couldn’t even properly take the breath. I suddenly had a nap because of exhaustion. When I heard the crying of the child, I got up hurriedly. I saw that poor had already gone to the heavenly abode. I started behaving insanely like a madman. It came to my mind that it is better to end my life than to die at the hands of murderers. But then I realized in my mind what the fault of this innocent is. The vultures and crows will pluck and eat him. I put the child with a heavy heart in a sheet of cloth and then hung it behind my back. Then I collected the dry wood and placing the body of my deceased wife on it I presented her to the fire. At the other end of the sky, Sun was at the last lap of the day with its redness, as if saying that after the rise; he also has to be set. Before anyone caught sight of the smoke emanating from the fiery flames, I got lost in the depths of the forest. If the child would go hungry again and again, I would put the finger of my hand in his mouth. Wandering here and there all night, I reached a roadside in the morning. I felt a little confidence in my mind. Like me, a crowd of migrants was marching towards Amritsar. I too joined that unfortunate crowd of humans. The child was constantly crying with hunger. Thanks for the goodness of a sister, having pity she fed her milk to the child, and then he fell asleep. The convoy must have moved barely two miles when the rioters attacked. Within no time, heaps of corpses were visible on the road. Before they could kill all of us, some army vehicles arrived there. My sons, whom God keeps, no frost can kill. Death was not written in my destiny, so I survived. I was so broken by now that after sitting in an army vehicle I became unconscious. When somehow we reached Amritsar, I thanked that Almighty many-many times. After staying there for a few days, I was sent to Mubarikpur Camp along with other people. Since then I’m completing the rest of my life with the hope of this child.’
Hearing the tragedy of the Drummer, some children started crying. The naughty children looked at each other and then spoke sobbing:
‘Drummer Baba, now we will never bother you.’
Then they picked up their drums and put them in front of his child. The child, who had previously become inconsolable, was now laughing. Seeing him laughing the Drummer also started laughing and said:
‘Son, will you not sing a song for your friends?’
He smilingly put the rope onto his neck and pressed the drum under his right knee and then playing the drum with his both hands sang with an indistinct voice:
‘The fair of this world is very short to live;
Morning is not known when night has gone.’
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